


First Meetings and Other Miscellany

by leomona



Series: Don't They Know It's The End Of The World [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-28 10:32:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10093004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leomona/pseuds/leomona
Summary: Snippets from the life of the Sole Survivor, between waking up and becoming Director.





	1. Shaun

 "S9-23, recall code Cirrus."

As Shaun – no, the _synth_ , not my boy at all – slumps, all life draining from him as if it never existed in the first place, I whirl to face the old man entering the room. Barely stopping myself from lifting my rifle and shooting him in the _face_ for _taunting_ me like this _,_ I force out a question through gritted teeth. "Where is my _son_?"

 

 

 

After talking briefly with – with  _Shaun_ , though in truth he does most of the talking while I try to work my way through the white buzz filling my head, he tries to take me on a tour of the Institute. If I were paying better attention, if it were a month or so on and I'd come to know Shaun better, it would be clear to see he is all but bubbling over with pride for the place, in his own restrained way. Clear to see how he wants  _me_ to be proud of it, too, with how often he turns to watch my reaction as he singles something out, tells me about some project or another. By this point, however, I am wandering around in something of a daze. Shellshock, maybe; my life as I imagined it blown to pieces for the second time. 

"Shaun," I say eventually, noting with a sort of detached surprise how easily I managed to use that name. "I – forgive me. But if I could rest a little first before we – before I meet everyone -"

"Of course," Shaun agrees, waving over one of the synths working nearby. "Show my mother to her quarters," he orders the woman, who murmurs something in return, then softly asks me to follow her.

_I should talk to her_ , I think as she starts up the stairs and I trail after obediently, without any true desire to do so.  _Find a secluded terminal to contact – but if Shaun, if my_ son  _is the -_

I shake my head, knowing only that making  _any_ decisions when I'm in this state would be a terrible idea. "Thank you," I tell the synth woman when we arrive at what must be my room. Rooms. "But if I could just be alone now..."

I shut the door in her face without waiting for a response and stand staring at the smooth, clean surface, breathing heavily. A glance around my assigned space, empty and sterile, then through the adjoining doorways into what prove to be a bedroom and a bathroom, and I return to the main door, dragging a heavy bookcase and barricading myself inside. Not enough to stop so much as a sufficiently determined human, never mind a Courser, but it leaves me feeling secure enough to head for the bathroom, unshouldering my pack, my guns, then finally armor and clothing. I stare a moment at the gleaming handles in the shower, then give them a twist and step inside.

 _Oh_. Hot water, for the first time in _months,_ and I close my eyes, turning my face up into the spray and shivering in pleasure. But the shivers turn slowly to shaking and soon I am holding myself up with a hand on the wall, then dropping to my knees, bending forward and rocking back and forth as I keen, high and quiet. _Shaun,_ I scream internally, clenching my teeth hard to keep the words back. _Shaun, please, please, I just want my baby. Please, I tried so hard._

I can't say how long I am there in the end, falling apart beneath the never-cooling water, but eventually the pain from my overstressed throat and knees grows enough – or the other pain lessens enough – for the former to penetrate my consciousness. Standing, silent now, I turn off the water and step out, absently drying myself with one of the waiting towels and wrapping my hair up in another. Walking past my weapons and armour with barely a glance – so much for my hard-earned lessons from the Commonwealth – I head into the bedroom and crawl between the crisp sheets, curling up in a ball. I think vaguely of the Med-X in my bag, wondering just how far the numbness it grants would go, but the thought of moving further is overwhelming now, and instead I let my eyes slip shut and determinedly think of nothing at all.

 

 

 

When I wake, for one brilliant, merciful moment, it is to simple confusion; where I am, how I got here, why it's so _clean_. But too soon, it all comes crashing in again and I choke, trying to hold back a sob, or maybe a scream. After a few seconds of heavy, fast breathing I gradually force to slow, I make myself get up, take a proper shower involving soap and shampoo this time, and dress in one of the plain white jumpsuits I find in the bedroom drawers. I hesitate at my armor, thinking of the message it'll send if I wear it among these people, but in the end find myself unable to remove my barricade until armor and weapons both are back in place.

 

 

 

_I owe my life to your son._

_Father is a great leader._

_You must be so proud._

I smile, I nod, I agree pleasantly and emptily as I walk through the Institute – early morning I used the relay, then the curtailed tour followed by about fourteen hours of exhaused sleep makes it late evening now, and synths the majority of the residents I encounter – but with my sudden storm of grief now over, my emotions carefully held in check once more, I notice details that before I could not. The sheer _scale_ of this place, stunning as I stand in the central plaza and look up the elevator I came down initially; how long had this taken to build? Where even _were_ we? And the numbers, too; the humans, the scientists, all presumably asleep, but wherever I stand, I can see dozens of figures working, obvious and non-obvious synths alike. The security, Coursers patrolling by the looks of them – and by the sounds of one conversation I catch from around a corner, Coursers carefully watching the other synths for any sign of dissent or troublemaking. _A stutter? Really? Resetting someone for a_ stutter _is a credible threat here?_

I nearly pass by one door entirely in my wanderings before I notice the small, discreet label: _Director_. I hesitate, aware of the time, but...

"Come in," I hear a man's voice – _Shaun's_ voice – call when I knock, and I fumble with the keypad to the side a moment before finally just pressing the big green button; the door slides open and I step inside cautiously. "Hello, mother," Shaun greets me from the sofa, and inclines his head toward the seat beside him.

"Shaun," I reply, and do indeed join him.

"I hope the rooms are to your satisfaction," Shaun says, and I nod quickly.

"Yes, fine." A slightly awkward silence falls, broken only when I sigh and look away from him. "I can't do this," I mutter.

Shaun remains silent for a beat. "I am aware that I must not be what you were expecting -" he starts to say, breaking off when I let out a choked, slightly hysterical laugh.

"Now that – that is something of an understatement," I say. "See, I had just about come to terms with – well, as best I could, at least – with the idea of – a ten year old would be one thing, but _this_ is just – oh my god, I don't even know what to say. How am I supposed to handle this?"

"Once you have taken some time to – assimilate -"

I cut him off again. " _No_ amount of time is going to -" I turn back to face him, this old man with my eyes and subtle hints of his father's features, rubbing my mouth. "I'm sorry," I say, sighing again. "This is hardly _your_ – I don't want you to think that just because you weren't what I was -" _hoping for_ "- expecting that I don't still want to get to know you. I'm just – like you said, I'm sure I just need some time."

"Of course," Shaun murmurs. "Is there anything I can say to ease your mind?"

I consider this question seriously. "Were you happy?" I ask finally.

Shaun looks startled. "What?"

"Were you _happy_?" I repeat. "Here, as a child."

He hesitates before responding. "The Institute provided for all my physical needs and gave me every opportunity to learn; opportunities I would not have otherwise had, the surface being as it is."

"Don't bullshit me," I tell him, eyes narrowed. "You don't want to answer something I ask, fine, but don't – tell me the _truth_ , not what you think I want to hear."

Shaun's lips thin at this. "There was nothing untrue in what I told you."

"Maybe not, but you sure as hell didn't answer my question," I say. "Which is an answer in itself, I guess; all right. Who raised you?"

"I don't -" Shaun pauses again. "Mother, I fail to see how recounting the details of events so far in the past will serve any purpose."

"Shaun," I say softly. "You are my _son_. I have spent _months_ looking for you, and had it instead taken me years, the rest of my _life_ , I would not have stopped looking. And the whole time, I could only desperately hope that wherever you were, you were being treated well. Maybe the answers won't _ease my mind_ in and of themselves, but I promise you that left to my own imaginings, I can come up with far worse than what the reality was."

"As you wish," Shaun replies tiredly. "No single person – or couple – raised me; I was largely kept physically isolated as a young child, to prevent possible contamination of the needed biological samples, and interacted primarily with the researchers working on the third generation synth project."

"So nobody raised you," I supply, my voice neutral. "You were left to raise yourself."

"I did not want for anything," Shaun replies, his own tone cooling slightly. "And the – circumstances – of my childhood were a necessity; one I can assure you I have no difficulty understanding."

_Yeah, and I'm sure that five year old you would have agreed with that, right?_ I think, then have to take a moment to force myself  _not_ to think of him like that, five years old and locked in a tiny glass cage while researchers in lab coats took notes on his reactions.

"I'm glad they don't trouble you now, then," I say softly, once I am able. Once I've reminded myself that his defense of this – this  _abuse_ is surely a learned reaction, a protective mechanism. "All the same, it sounds like it would have been difficult, at the time."

"Yes, well..." Shaun seems unwilling – unable? - to give more than this. "Have you had the opportunity to meet the department heads?"

I shake my head, accepting this change of subject. "Slept the day away, I'm afraid," I say, managing a smile. "Tomorrow."

"You must not have had much opportunity for uninterrupted sleep recently," Shaun comments.

I shrug. "Some places in the Commonwealth are better than others. I'm working on increasing the good ones."

"Yes," Shaun agrees, tilting his head to the side and studying me. "We are aware of the work you've done with the Minutemen. A curious choice."

"Is it?" I ask, shrugging. "I was looking for my baby – or young child – and facing the prospect of having to raise him in the Commonwealth. I wanted a safe place for him – for  _you_ ."

Shaun goes silent at this before saying, "It's truly remarkable, you know. That someone with so few skills should not only have survived in that environment, but thrived, and found her way here."

"Thank you," I say dryly. "I did my best, lack of skill aside. But yes; in many ways, your father would have been the better choice for this. Probably wouldn't have dropped his rifle the first time he fired it, for one. Speaking of me finding my way here, I can't help but observe you could have brought me in at any time and didn't."

"As I said when you first arrived, it was only recently that I began to wonder -" Shaun starts to reply, and I shake my head.

"I'm not talking about why you didn't look into me before," I say. "You only got curious recently, fine."  _Well, not fine, but not so surprising, either, with how it sounds like you grew up._ "I'm talking about how you were clearly expecting me and knew who I was when I arrived. You  _let_ me find my own way here, rather than – do you have any idea how many times I almost – how close I came to  _dying_ ?" I demand, hands clenching on my legs.

Shaun is silent again, and I can see he genuinely doesn't know what to say; I shake my head, suddenly weary, and stand. "Never mind," I tell him. "I shouldn't expect – look, it's late, and you probably want to get to bed. I'm gonna go explore a little more, then meet those people you wanted me to in the morning."

Shaun nods, watching me carefully. "Good night, mother."

After a moment, I nod back. "Sleep well, Shaun."


	2. Nuka-World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I doubt I'll ever flesh this out properly, but for anyone who might be interested, here's what little I wrote of Naomi's time in Nuka-World.

"I'm surprised to see you helping raiders, ma'am," X6-88 comments lowly as we take a moment to catch our breath in a Galactic Zone office.

I shrug. "Didn't want to provoke them at first, not when we were so badly outnumbered. Now... this Star Control thing is interesting. Not to mention the sort of power generation that must be needed for a place this size. If we can bring it under Institute control..."

"I believe Dr. Filmore has plans involving the Mass Fusion building for that purpose," X6-88 says.

"Oh, I know she does," I agree. "But why have one massive power plant when you can have two, right? Or even three? Besides, there's power for the Institute, underground, and power for the Institute on the surface. I have some thoughts on the matter," I add with a faint smile, taking off my sunglasses to wipe the grime from the lenses.

X6-88 makes no direct response, merely leaning back against the wall, facing the door. "I'll stand guard if you want to get some rest before we continue, ma'am."

"Think I'll take you up on that," I agree, unshouldering my pack and punching it into a poor, rather uncomfortable pillow before lying down.

 

......

 

"How would you bring these facilities under Institute control?" X6-88 asks a few days later, out of nowhere.

"Really, X6?" I say, slightly incredulous, as I wrap up the bite on my leg. Outside the room, the occasional growl of a ghoul passing through the tunnels drifts in, prompting us to keep quiet until silence falls once more. "Is now _really_ the time?"

"My apologies, ma'am," X6-88 replies neutrally.

I shake my head. "No, I - sorry. This radiation bullshit just has me a bit on edge." My companion's expression shifts minutely at the apology, as always, but he's stopped protesting such things outright by this point, to my relief.

"Well, it's kind of a toss-up, what's the bigger risk, way I see it," I continue. "I want to explore well enough to get an idea of what there is that's worth taking, and how quickly we want to move on it, how much force, etcetera, etcetera, but that means clearing out the different parks properly. Then if I don't move anyone into them to hold them _now_ , who knows what I'll find next time we come back? But of course, the different gangs might get their hands on what I want, themselves, and either destroy it or make use of it."

"Or prove difficult to remove, once they are established," X6-88 observes.

"That too," I agree. "Well, the Disciples aren't going anywhere else in this place; I'm not handing any more power over to that lot of psychopaths. The Pack, I'll throw a couple of low-importance bones to keep them quiet. But the Operators, _them_ I think I can work with; might be we won't even _have_ to dig them out again, if they'll play nice later on," I say thoughtfully.

"As you say, ma'am," X6-88 says after a moment. _You're out of your mind,_ in other words, not that he'd ever express that sort of sentiment to me directly.

"Hey, a girl can hope," I say with a quick grin. "If it's money they want, and they're willing to civilize themselves some, I could live with employing them to help out with managing and guarding this place."

"Synths could do the same jobs without the risk of betrayal," X6-88 comments.

"Well, we'll see when the time comes," I reply, pulling down the torn leg of my trousers and standing. "Right, now let's go murder us a ghoul magician."

 

......

 

"Well, hello there, beautiful," I say softly, running a hand over the console of the replicator and ignoring the dead gatorclaw at my feet. "Who's a gorgeous little working cloning machine? And who's going to make Bioscience my absolute best friends until the end of time?"

"The Institute already has cloning technology, ma'am," X6-88 comments.

"Does the Institute have the same stock of pre-war tissue samples?" I ask, typing away at the console. "Or the ability to move animal creations to the surface easily? The _data_ from the experiments they were running here, splicing supermutants with standard animals? If we can make radiation-resistant versions of old animals, farm animals especially, life on the surface just got a whole lot more viable. And don't give me that look," I add, without turning around. "This is _our_ world; humans and synths both. I'm not seeing it left in the hands of mutated monstrosities and raider gangs."

 


	3. X6-88

_Go meet the Courser,_ Shaun told me.  _Reclaim the rogue synth._ I struggled for some time with whether I should even  _go_ , but in the end, the fact that this synth is leading a raider gang not that far from one of the settlements I'm responsible for tips the balance. What I'll do when I reach him, god only knows, but one way or another I certainly can't leave someone like that to continue preying on the Commonwealth.

I approach Libertalia from Nordhagen Beach only after the sun is well on its way toward setting; worst case, it'll be at my back and in the raiders' eyes, and best case, it'll be dark enough by the time I get started that I can pick them off easily with the help of their own fires. For now, however, there's still plenty of light left for me to make out the black-cloaked figure overlooking the network of boats from where he stands, beside one upturned on the sand away from all the rest; his back is to me, but I have little doubt he knows I'm there.

"You the Courser I'm supposed to meet?" I ask, and he turns.

"Yes, ma'am. Unit designation X6-88."

I nod, taking a moment to study him. Dark skin, and I wonder at that briefly – did the Institute use DNA from people other than just Shaun? Did they somehow tinker with it directly, to get such a range of physical appearances for their synths? Is it something related to how the synths are physically manufactured? - but I'm neither a biologist nor a roboticist, and soon enough I shelve my musings for the time being and return to my examination. Gaze hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, expressionless face, one of the Institute's standard laser rifles held easily in both hands - "I favor a more silent approach; sniper rifle, usually," I comment, nodding to his weapon.

"We are aware," X6-88 replies, coolly unemotional. "Your weapon will be less effective if you are surprised at close range, or required to fight in locations with limited sightlines."

"Well, I've got a backup option, too," I say, patting the pistol holstered at my hip as I try not to think about where I got it, the secret underground base littered with bodies of former Railroad agents killed by Coursers. Including this very one, potentially.

X6-88 glances at the pistol. "It would be more powerful without the silencer," he comments. "You're lacking an effective way to deal with immediate, resilient threats. It's an operational weakness you should address."

"Tell you what," I say dryly. "For now, you cover me if anything sneaks up on us, and after we're done here, I'll look into getting a – a shotgun or an assault rifle or something as well, how's that? After all, I've just been starting to get used to carrying around eighty-odd pounds of gear constantly; it'll do me good to add on another twenty or so for dealing with niche situations."

"Agreed, ma'am," X6-88 says serenely, either missing or ignoring my sarcasm; normally I'd assume the former, from what I've seen of Institute synths thus far, but after this one's – rather refreshing – willingness to immediately start criticising my weapon choices, I'm willing to consider that there might be more going on beneath the surface here than I can see. "The likelihood of anything here _sneaking up_ on me is insignificant, however."

I let out an involuntary snort at his cockiness – though going by my experience hunting down that Courser at Greenetech Genetics, I don't much doubt that it's entirely justified. "Good to know," I say, ducking my head as I lift my rifle strap over it and unshoulder the weapon, checking over its condition automatically once it's settled in my hands. "In that case, let's give it a bit of time for the sun to go down some more and get set up in the meantime. We can start in this boat," I add, nodding to the one looming over us. "Should let me pick off anyone on the first few boats and along the outskirts before we relocate somewhere more useful."

"The perimeter guard has already been neutralized," X6-88 informs me. "There's an enclosure near the top of this ship where you can avoid detection, as well as have a secure location to shelter if any raiders approach. If that happens, stay back and keep your head down; I'll see to it that none of them get close enough to employ grenades against you."

While I'm fine with most of it, my eyebrow twitches upwards at the first of these statements. "You already started?" I ask, frowning. "That's – look, I'm aware you've got a lot more training and experience with this kind of thing than I do, but if someone checks in with the now-dead raiders, that's going to make it a whole lot harder for me to take out most of them before they realize anything's wrong. I don't want to... discourage initiative, or whatever, but the impression I got from Shaun was that I'd be taking the lead on this one; I'd appreciate you waiting on us at least discussing a _general_ plan before you take action." _This is exactly why I stopped travelling around with other people, once the idea of being out here alone stopped being so terrifying._

"Understood, ma'am; I apologize," X6-88 replies stiffly, though I can't say he looks especially sorry. "However, I don't believe you'll have any difficulty proceeding as you intend. I observed the raiders' schedules extensively before dispatching any of the guards; no patrols come out this far, and the next shift change is well after full dark. The level of discipline they've displayed over the past day is unusual for raiders, if unsurprising, given what we now know of their leader; it suggests that the risk of any deviation from their routine is minimal. I'll provide you with the conclusions I've formed on their numbers and locations once you're ready to get started."

"Huh," I say after a moment, recalibrating. _Not only competent – well, presumably – but capable of subtlety, as well? And without even needing told? If he wasn't here to spy on me for the Institute, I'd be tempted to keep him._ "Right, then; good job. How long have you been here watching, anyway?" I ask curiously, temporarily diverted. If he's seen enough to be confident about an evening shift change a few hours off...

"Approximately fifty-six hours, ma'am," X6-88 replies, then nods down the beach, back the way I came. "I waited until I was certain you were approaching before clearing this immediate area."

" _Fifty_ -" I choke, eyes widening a little. "But that was over a longer period of time, right? You've _slept_."

"A decreased requirement for sleep is part of the general synth design protocol," X6-88 says. "Coursers are expected to continue operating at peak efficiency with even less. I assure you, ma'am, you don't need to worry that I can't keep up."

"Well, if you say so," I reply; I'm still feeling a little dubious, but honestly, a Courser working at even half-capacity could probably still outclass any human I'd care to name. "Ready to get started, then?"

"Right behind you, ma'am," X6-88 says, and I try to decide whether I should find that reassuring or unnerving.

 

 

 

 

" _Shit_ , I think the guy on the next boat heard – aaaand seventeen, we're good," I say, letting my breath back out as the raider investigating the splash from her comrade's body slumps to the deck of the ship, a bullet in her head now, too.

"Two left," X6-88 says tersely, likewise scanning the cluster of boats I'm currently clearing, though through my offered binoculars rather than a scope; his sunglasses have been long since tucked away, more hindrance than help as the evening lengthens. After an initial period where he stayed close by the entrance to Libertalia proper – presumably to intercept the raiders that would inevitably descend upon us after I messed up and alerted them to our presence – he apparently realised I know what I'm doing and relocated to my little cabin to guard against approaching mirelurks or the like. Either that, or he was starting to feel superfluous. "Far right, top deck – there's a shot from my position – and one unknown. Could be asleep inside."

Obligingly, I pull the barrel of my rifle back through the window and move over beside him. "Thoughts on getting the last?" I inquire as I get into position again, peering through my scope where he indicated.

"A shot to something metallic could make enough noise to draw them out," X6-88 says. "It could also alert someone on another ship who might raise the alarm. As the route is now clear, I suggest that I move in at this stage to finish off the last raider and secure the location before you follow; there could be traps."

I gently squeeze the trigger. "Eighteen," I say, then nod agreement. "Go."

_Should we have agreed on a signal?_ I wonder, some time later; after watching X6-88's progress and seeing him disappear inside the boat's interior, I'd been left scanning the area for a good ten minutes now without any further indications of his presence – his, or the missing raider's.  _Was he expecting me to just come after a certain amount of time? There's no way they_ killed  _him, right? Surely not. But why's it taking – oh, there we go. Right, time to play dodge the spotlights, then._

"You okay?" I ask lowly once I successfully reach the boat, raising an eyebrow as I look him over; it's dark enough that I can't be sure, and I've certainly passed plenty of reasons that I'd be smelling blood right now – reasons I made – but it looks suspiciously like half his coat is glistening wetly.

"I encountered more raiders than anticipated," X6-88 replies, inclining his head towards the doorway behind him; I duck past to take a look. "It seems they use this ship for additional living space; as my estimate was based on the people I observed coming and going, and the cabins here have no windows overlooking either the beach or the far dock, the number I gave didn't account for those raiders who never came outside. A failing on my part," he adds, voice even. "I will include it in my mission report."

"I... think you're good, really," I say faintly, my gaze slowly roving across the room; it's not like I'm _unused_ to dead bodies by this point, but there's a little more blood than I expect to see outside supermutant encampments. "Consider any failure thoroughly compensated for. Did you just... cut all their throats, then, or...?"

"Firing a weapon would have woken the others present, and potentially alerted the rest of the raiders," X6-88 says. "This method is both silent in itself, and has the additional benefit of preventing any vocalizations."

"Right," I agree, nodding slowly, then collect myself enough to send a brief smile his way. "Of course, something like, say, a silenced pistol would have done the job just as well, and a lot more neatly," I tease.

Something flickers in X6-88's gaze, there and gone too fast for me to identify. "Waste of ammo," he replies. "And my uniform is designed to resist bloodstains."

"Yeah, god forbid my stock of 10mm back home drops from one thousand to nine hundred eighty-six," I say dryly, then spot a box of the very stuff over on a shelf – as well as some .308, if I'm not mistaken. "Hey, look at that; I'm going to make a profit on the trip, at this rate," I comment, hopping nimbly over a corpse as I cross the room to inspect the supplies. "Even if I _do_ wind up shooting a few raiders you could've knifed _much_ more efficiently."

"Home?" X6-88 asks, ignoring my attempted banter – which is probably for the best, really.

"Hmm?" I pick up a little bag of fusion cells and toss it over my shoulder in X6-88's direction; unsurprisingly, there's no sound of it hitting the floor. "Oh. Hangman's Alley; the Minutemen settlement closest to Diamond City. It's not _home_ home – that's twenty miles northwest and two hundred years in the past – but it's a good, safe, central location to keep things I want easy access to. Especially with the relay dropping me just across the river now, too."

"You could use the Institute itself for that purpose," X6-88 comments.

"Maybe," I say vaguely, turning from the shelf and going to rejoin him. _Because what I really want is to put all my medicine and ammo under your people's control. No thanks._ "Seems like a waste of power, relaying in just to restock my ammo, though. And people know they can leave messages for me there and I'll pick them up before too long. Anyway, that's me done here; did you find a good spot for me up top?"

"This way," X6-88 replies. "Careful you don't slip on the stairs, ma'am."

 

 

 

 

"I think that's all of them," X6-88 tells me. "Apart from B5-92 and any guards he has with him. Based on the height of the boat and the vertical distance we've already covered, this ladder should allow us access to the top. I doubt they've realized we're here."

"Great," I say, not moving from where I collapsed to the floor as soon as X6-88 declared the room secure, my heart still hammering. "Really glad to hear it. You might have a point about better close-range weapons, X6; making my way up this boat would've been a real pain in the ass if you hadn't been here. And I think that last woman would've got me, too. Thanks."

A muscle twitches subtly in X6-88's face – surprise at the thanks, displeasure at the shortened form of his designation, I'm not sure and I can't really bring myself to care too much, at this very moment. "You're welcome, ma'am," he says. "And while I had my doubts at first, this assignment would have been much more dangerous without your own contribution, as well. That was some nice timing on your shot for that raider with the missile launcher."

"Oh, he made it easy for me, leaning out over the railing like that," I say modestly, then nod to a now-deactivated trap. "How does that shotgun look to you? I don't know that much about them, but if we're about to come out of a trapdoor right by a raider boss and his guards..."

X6-88 finishes dismantling the trap and looks the shotgun over. "Adequate," he pronounces finally, handing it over to me. "But I wouldn't recommend using an untested weapon for the first time out in the field unless you have to, ma'am."

"Isn't that basically what the Institute's doing by sending _me_?" I ask dryly.

"They didn't send you on your own," X6-88 replies; my lips twitch in a small, amused smile. "Regardless, it would be best if we can avoid any damage to Institute property; I'm going to give you B5-92's reset code. If he hears the code phrase, it'll reset his cognitive processes and make him docile. You'll need to say 'B5-92, initialize factory reset,' followed by the authorization code 'gamma-7-1-epsilon.' Once he's shut down, I can transport him safely back to the Institute."

"Reset," I say, voice flat. "Meaning?"

"Render him unconscious," X6-88 clarifies.

I hesitate. _So not the permanent sort of reset, but -_ "And when you take him back?" I ask. "The Institute will erase his personality, won't they? His identity. Killing him outright would be more humane."

"This is a synth, ma'am," X6-88 says, after a slight pause. "A synth that's confused and dangerous. We can restore it to its proper functions, make it whole again. I can't force you to use the reset code, but I know it's what Father would want. I hope you'll consider that."

"Which one is it?" I ask, eyes narrowing. " _It_ or _him_? Because I can't help but notice you've been happy enough using gendered pronouns up until now."

"Which was obviously a mistake," X6-88 says. "Despite appearances, Unit B5-92 is not a man; the question of _humane_ treatment does not apply to our situation. Both the people living in your settlements and the synth itself will be safer and happier once it's back to what it should be, where it belongs."

My lips thin and I shake my head, turning away. "Just – give me a minute to get ready, here," I say, opening my pack to see if I can make room for my new shotgun while I deliberate. _Does it actually matter? As much as I absolutely_ hate _the idea of this, he's dead either way; just a question of whether someone new takes over his body afterwards. And I'm sure X6 is right about what Shaun wants me to do. How's it going to look if I balk at the very first job he gives me? Sacrifice one synth now, and maybe the Railroad and I can save all the rest of them down the line. But if I_ do _cooperate, what will they ask me to do next?_

"Ready," I say quietly when I turn back around, pistol in hand.

"Stay behind me, ma'am," X6-88 instructs, starting to climb the ladder.

 

 

 

"Nice work, ma'am," X6-88 comments, a scant few minutes later. "If you're ready to go, I'll take the synth back now."

"Yes," I agree, avoiding looking at him – or at Gabriel, slumped unconscious – as I go through the pockets of one of the dead raiders. "You do that. I've still got a few things to take care of in the area, though, as long as I'm out here; I'll check in later. Catch up with – whoever. I'm sure it'll all be in your own mission report, anyway."

"Affirmative," X6-88 replies, before – not to me, presumably – he adds, "This is X6-88, ready to relay with reclaimed synth B5-92."

With a crackling flash of blue light, he and Gabriel both disappear. Unobserved now, I close my eyes, turning my head to the side and letting my face screw up with anger and grief; my hands clench hard, nails digging into my palms. After ten heartbeats – all that I allow myself – I force both fists and eyes open once more, smoothing out my expression, and continue going through the raider's pockets as I redirect my thoughts to the settlement at Nordhagen and what I'm going to do about their food shortage. _Take a few days,_ I decide. _Maybe a week. Spend the time helping the people you_ can _help right now, the uncomplicated ones. Then once you're ready... go back to your son, and try to remember how lucky you are to have even_ this _much._

 


End file.
